


Housetraining

by Fantine_Black



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Begging, Bondage, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Crying, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Repressed, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Food Issues, Gellert Grindelwald Never Impersonated Percival Graves, Hair-pulling, Internal Monologue, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Mind Games, Ownership, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Possessive Original Percival Graves, Slavery, Squibs, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-02-27 07:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13243644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: When Mr. Graves promised to teach Credence magic, he wasn't lying.But this aint Ilvermorny.





	1. Warmup

He’s not always kind.

When he comes in it’s always a shock – he’s always right _there_ , barely uses the door – but I know that he puts away his coat – cloak. His cloak. It gives me a few seconds but I don’t know where to look. I grab what hold I can on the leather straps and pull myself upright. I feel my blood pulsing along the scars on my right hand, all the way from where my fingers are now clawing.

But he’s not Ma. He must see that I’m contrite, that I’m worth to be forgiven. He must see it, I know he will.

I cannot breathe.

I tried not to chafe, not to fight him. He’s right, he must be right o God he’s here.

I stare at his shoes. Nice shoes, I’d polish them if he’d let me. Dragon skin. I straighten up, wait for his footsteps, eyes away.

He’s not coming in.

No, no, no, it’s been all day, I’ve been so good, and it hurts, Mr., please, it hurts. My eyes flit up and he’s already turning back and he can’t Mr., please, don’t leave me.

His mouth twists.

I feel myself sag.

Mr., please, I didn’t mean to –

He pulls the door shut.

I want to die.

 _Hush,_ he said. _Don’t cry_ , he said. I won’t, for him. Ma said the same, but she wanted me to, kept hitting until she saw tears. _Weakling,_ she said. _Crybaby._

Chastity loved it.

But he is here now and he won’t come in and I’m trembling so bad it feels like the room is shaking but I will not cry and suddenly there’s cursing and running footsteps and the door bursts open and he yells something ( _Finite?)_ and everything stops.

Now he does walk toward me, and I want to crawl away, but it hurts so good when he grabs my neck that I feel myself harden. “You do that again,” he whispers, “and I’ll Petrify you. That means you cannot even blink, have I made that fucking clear?”

I look up at him. “Y…yes, Mr. Graves.”

“MACUSA would have you liquefied within the hour for that stunt,  do you understand?”

I don’t understand a word of that, but I decide to nod. “Yes, Mr. Graves.” I look down. “I am sorry.”

“Then be quiet.”  

And he lets go and I _can’t_ and

“No, please, I’ll be good, please, Mr. Graves, I-”

The rest of my words choke into nothingness, but he stays and he smiles and his hand’s on my face and another’s on my crotch and his breath’s on my ear and: “You can’t be good yet, Credence. Patience.”

 I…

I think I’ve come.

And he stills and he laughs and he grabs my ass and he turns and he _goes_ and I sob in his silence.

‘Patience, Credence’...

I have hope.


	2. Boy

When he comes back I don't dare look at him. I’ve soiled myself, and my arms are so tired they’re shaking. This… this is worse than what Ma ever did, and yet I’m longing and burning and aching and –

“Credence.”

Both hands on my face and yes o yes Mr. please more –

“Credence, if you lash out I’m going to have to hurt you.”

Lash out? I didn’t do that the first time, I’ve tried to tell him, but the only thing I want is melt into his touch and if a nod will get me more of it, then –

His hands behind my head and o Mr. yes, my neck feels so naked to his touch and please…

“It’s alright.” His hand’s up my arm when I feel the straps dissolve and I slump, it’s all I can do but he’s holding me up, has anyone ever done that, I don’t remember –

“There you go, Credence. Shhh.”

I can’t actually talk yet, but I can cry, and shudder, and if this is the last caress I’m ever gonna get I’ll make the most of it; he’ll hurt me soon, they always do, but I need…

“Come.” He pulls me to my feet. “We’ll get you something clean, alright?” He stops. “Credence?”

I look away, put my palm to my throat, and then I feel his hand covering mine. “Vox,” he whispers, close to my ear, and something loosens, but when he pulls away I grab him, one moment, before I realize what I’m doing.

I drop my gaze. “I’m sorry… I-”

My hand twists. I know what I must do, but –

His eyes flash. “No.” He grabs my palm so hard it makes me wince, but I do meet his gaze. “You never willingly put yourself in danger, do you hear me?” He grabs my neck. “Never, Credence, is that clear?”

“Yes,” I choke. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graves – I…”

He pulls me close. “Damn you, boy,” he whispers. “What did you let them do?”

And that hurts so much I crumble. “I know – I can’t, I’m sorry Mr. Graves, I – ”

“You’re taking a bath.”

And that’s an apt enough punishment, I guess, the water will be freezing, unless he has a heater, which I don’t think he does. The rooms seem strangely old-fashioned, with fireplaces in weird corners, though I haven’t seen much of it yet.

There, I was right. Nothing but a tub, no plumbing there at all.

This'll hurt.

"Do you, do you want me to -" I don't know what I'm asking, it's distinctly unappealing, but to just stand there... Chastity would have long -

"Bath, Credence, like I said. Get those things off."

Is he going to douse me? But that'll hurt worse, even Ma didn't do that in december.

"I'll go to the faucet," I offer. "I don't need much, Mr. Graves, I'll..."

But he holds out his hand, makes a circular, upwards motion, and..

"What... what..."

"Come on, have you never taken a bath before?"

The water is steaming and it smells... is that pine? I'm not in parks too much, but...

"I'll leave you alone."

"No!" I take a breath. "Please don't, I don't know if -"

He touches my face. "You don't know what, Credence?"

I bite my lip. He lifts my chin.

"Tell me."

"Will I..." I meet his gaze. "Will I sink?"

"Sink?" He smirks. "There isn't much room to sink to, Credence, can't you see?"

I look at the tub. "I don't know that."

He nods. "Smart boy." He squeezes my neck. "You have an Auror's instincts. Very good."

I don't know what he's saying half the time, but I feel my lips curl up. He ruffles my head.

"Get in."

I start to take off my jacket, but he takes out his wand. He doesn't use it much.

I pull back.

"Shhh. It's okay." Two flicks, and I feel my clothes slide off - they rematerialize on a hanger, and they look like they've been cleaned.

I stare.

He frowns. "You're going to have to get used to that," he says. "They'll take you for a No-Maj."

"A... a nomad?"

He sighs. "Get. In."

I nod, turn, plunge in my foot, pull it back out - it's so hot it shocks me, but with one look at him I lift my left foot instead -

He pulls me back. "What did I just say?"

I cringe. "'Get in the tub.'"

He shakes his head. "Look at me, boy."

O, God, I knew it. It was a trick, it's always a trick...

His hands on my face again -

"I told you to never compromise your own safety," he says. "Didn't I, Credence?"

I lower my eyes. "Yes, Mr. Graves."

He flicks his wand at a towel. "Let me see that foot." He wraps me in the cloth- it's so soft, I can barely believe it - and sits me on a stool.

"It's okay," I say. "Really. You don't have to - "

"Hush," he says, and puts both hands on my ankle. The sting immediately settles. "There." Then he slides is hands down my forefoot.

"You have blisters."

"My shoes don't fit right," I say. "It's OK. They always heal."

He stands up. "Where else does it hurt?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Graves, really -"

He takes a breath. "I'm sorry to say this, Credence, but I can't really trust your judgment on that." He crouches down.

"Where else does it hurt?"

I lower my eyes. "Everywhere."

He blinks. "Show me."

I stand up and slip off the towel, and I feel how his hands stroke down my neck, my shoulders, down my back...

"Merlin's ass," he whispers. "Did she even feed you?"

I blush. "Ma said I never stop eating."

"You're a grown man," he says. Then he lets go. "These are very old wounds. I can't do much about them."

"That's OK," I whisper.

"Credence," he says. I look at him. "It's not OK. I don't know how often I have to say it." He turns away. "The bath should have cooled by now."

"Yes, sir." I give him the towel, slip in, slowly this time, and...

I've used some of the hot water from washing for soaking my hands; washed myself, too - Ma wouldn't take me to a bathhouse, but I had to be clean, and if it meant leaving some laundry to me, so much the better. But to be completely engulfed by it - it's otherworldly. Everything relaxes, I feel my body stretch, floating lightly, I'm wriggling my toes...

"It's good, isn't it?" His voice is very low.

"Yes, Mr. Graves." I bow my head. "Thank you."

He's silent, then he sucks in a breath. "Fuck, boy, what even are you?"

I startle at the profanity to see him towering over me, a bulge visible in his pants. Then he crouches down.

"Tell me, Credence, do you want to be my boy?"

The whisper alone makes me half hard. O God, it's happening.

I've dreamed of this so much.

"Yes, Mr. Graves," I whisper. "Please, Mr. Graves."

"You know what it means, then? When a man wants you to be his boy?"

"Yes, Mr. Graves. I do."

He grabs my hair. "Tell me."

"You want to kiss me," I breathe. "You want to hold me down and fuck me. You want me to suck your dick..."

"My my," he says, eyebrows raised. "Where did you learn such filth?"

I feel tears pool in my eyes. "You're not the first... who's asked..."

"Oooh..." He looks at me, a strange glimmer in his eye. "So there were others, were there? Did you let them have you against a wall?"

"No!" I gasp. "Ma would have killed me! And I couldn't - couldn't leave Modesty!"

I suddenly see her face before me and I sob.  
"Where is my sister?"

He lets go, straightens up. "She had to be obliviated." I look at him, and he says: "Her memory was altered. She won't remember you."

I clench my fists. "No."

"It was for the best."

See, I've heard that all my life, and 'for the best' has never meant 'good'.

"Undo it!"

He stills, one moment, then looks down.

"Don't tell me how to do my job."

I can suddenly hear a pin drop. The warmth of the water won't suppress a chill.

"Come here, boy."

I stand up, take the towel he hands me, get out. The cloth is still soft, but I feel utterly exposed.

"Look at me."

It's the last thing I want, but I dare not refuse.

"Are you going to give me trouble?"

I swallow. "No, Mr. Graves."

"You've asked me to help you, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Mr. Graves."

"Come here." And suddenly I'm in his arms again, just like that first time, head against his shoulder and it feels like I might dissolve, like Modesty's witch in Oz, but nobody once told me it would feel this good -

"I want to help you, Credence, but you're going to have to trust me."

"Yes, Mr. Graves," I breathe against his lapel.

"Mr. Graves." There's a smile in his voice. "Is that what a boy says to his Daddy?"

I stare at him. He strokes my cheek. "Dear boy," he says. "Beautiful boy." He swoops away the towel. "Look at you."

Look at me? I am ugly, and lanky, have scabs everywhere. But then I see his pupils dilate.  
For him. I can be beautiful for him.

"Tell me, what did you dream of, those nights after you saw me?" He kisses my head. "I know you have."

"Touch me," I gasp. "Kiss me. Make it right."

"Kiss you like this?"

His lips are so soft upon mine and I feel warm, warm all over when he slips in his tongue, but it isn't enough, I pull him against me as I gasp in his mouth, harder -

He pulls back my head. "It's that how you want to play it?" His eyes are pitch black, livid, as his thumb presses against my throat. "Want me to hurt you, boy? Need Daddy to punish you?"

I wince. "Daddy, please..."

"Get to my bed."

And I've never seen him like this, all the power I've only suspected crackling through him, and I'm harder than I've ever been alone. I hurry out, it's akward, naked, but it doesn't last long as his hand grabs my nape as he practically steers me down the corridor, back to the bedroom where he pushes me facedown onto the mattress that is still softer than anything I ever felt in my life. I turn my head but that earns me a slapdown, so I lie there, eyes closed, ears straining to try and make sense of the danger. I feel something land by my side with a dull thud, clench my ass when he grabs both the cheeks as he spreads them.

"O no you don't," he hisses. "You've lied to me for weeks, boy, you'll take what's coming to you." He drips something onto my ass, and though it's both cool and soft, his fingers are rough around my entrance.

"All Aurors on full alert. Barely slept a wink for months... and you, did you like killing that No-Maj?"

I feel myself tighten. "He called me a freak."

"So you killed him? What makes you better than your Ma?"

"She..." But that only earns me another slap.

"Be still."

I hear rustling of clothing and though that always terrified me, it now feels strangely exciting too as I wait, heart hammering against my chest as he spreads my legs wider and -

"AH...ah aaa..."

Hands pushing down upon my arms.

"Don't make this harder on yourself."

"It hurts, Daddy, please no -"

"It's supposed to hurt, baby boy, and you'll like it."

But he eases off a little, instead pulling me up, thrusts becoming slower and deeper and I feel so raw, and I feel so used, and I love it. When he speeds up again he pushes me down and covers my wrists with his hands, when I push back he grunts: "Yes, boy, yes," and with a couple of more thrusts he comes, making me feel his seed pool inside me. I feel a wet patch spread out too.

He rolls away without a word, leaves the room; I can hear him piss some moments later. I try to lie still, but the cum dribbles down my leg too, and I shudder to think what he makes of the mess I made of his mattress.

I curl myself up. It'll happen anyway.

When he comes back I've ducked under the covers; I don't move till he touches my shoulder.

"Come, Credence, let's clean yourself up."

I see towels, soap, hot water; at the foot of the bed there are dark green pajamas that must belong to Mr. Graves himself. He's changed into a very fancy dressing gown. (I think they call it Burgundy.)

I don't move far though, rather just wait for his verdict.

"Well, go on, boy, I can't move this to rights when you sit there."

I move, don't look, but grab the pitcher and the towels. I clean myself up as quick as I can; suppress a shiver as the shirt falls over my back - everything he owns is so crazily soft. Only after I slip on the bottoms I turn to look at him.

His eyebrow lifts. "Very handsome." Then he stands up. "What will it be, Credence, cocoa or butterbeer?"

"I don't... don't need anything." Right then my stomach gives a dark rumble.

He smirks. "Cocoa it is. You should lie back down."

I sit back on the bed, which is made and spotlessly clean, before I slip under the covers again. Immediately, though, I feel the need to relieve myself. I tiptoe outside.

"Mr. Graves?"

He won't react.

I clear my throat. "Daddy?"

"Yes, darling?"

I feel like my head is on fire.

"Is there a washroom?"

"Third on your left."

I find it. Rich people's houses are amazing.

When I come back he's lying on the other side of the bed, wearing glasses and reading something that looks like paper, but probably isn't. He pats on the bed next to him, then follows my gaze.

"Paperwork. It never stops." When I hesitate, he says. "Well, come here, boy. Come have some pie."

Apple pie. I stole some, once. Insanely good. But not as good as this one.

I wolf it down, can't stop myself. He smiles, gives me his own piece.

"Thought it couldn't hurt you."

"Thank you, Daddy."

He turns to me. "Do you like saying that?"

I look down. "It's still so new."

"You'll get used to it." He kisses my head.

"You and I are going to have a lot of fun together."

I press myself closer, let him tip cocoa into my mouth. It tastes amazing, but -

"Daddy?"

I fall asleep, but much too fast; it's dragging me under, laming my muscles, forcing me down.

"Rest, boy," I hear him say, "I've got you."

And again there's nothing I can do.


	3. His

_Sights. Smells.  Everything is muffled, sounds mixing together, and I can’t move!_

_Ma, Chas. Mr. Graves, Mr. Shaw. Modesty is screaming –_

“Credence, wake up.”

My whole body jerks, but it’s Mr. Graves’ – Daddy’s – face looking down on me. He seems to check for something, but turns away, satisfied, and says: “Your bath’s ready.”

I thought I’d just had a bath, but then I reconsider, as my body feels like that time Ma’d caught Chastity kissing that Jewish boy. I couldn’t walk for days.

I’m still shaking when I peel off the pajamas. How long have I slept? Does he want to have sex?

Is that all he wants…?

“You’re alright there, Credence?”

“Yes, Daddy.” I fold the pajamas, get into the tub, and...

There’s some kind of oil in it, soft, something flowery, almost like an embrace. I feel myself choke up. It’s  something I can only sense, not name, and suddenly my whole body is heaving. I grab my elbows, bite my lip but it won’t stop, even with my nails dug in my leg I keep crying, and I’ll be in so much trouble when he hears and…

“Hey.” His hands around my face and that just does it, I break, and rather than sneer he pulls me to him, I can’t, my whole body is cramping with pain and if he doesn’t beat me for this later I get nothing anymore I’m ruining his shirt. But he just sits there, and holds my back and for the first time I dare put my arms around his neck and let my body shake itself out. “I’m sorry,” I manage, but he just strokes my hair and lays me back down.

“Don’t be long now,” he chuckles. “We’re going out.”

Out? How long has it been since I’ve been out? I suddenly want nothing more than feel air on my face but I feel blotchy, I can’t go out like this, I’m sure I haven’t had a shave in days and –

No, wait. My face feels incredibly smooth. I would have never dared cut so close to the skin, did he…?

He grins. “It’s magic. And there’s some dental cleanser by the sink. Hurry up.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I grab some soap as he leaves, but hold still for a moment to marvel at the water. My whole skin feels softer, even my hands, I don’t think I’ve felt so many sensations since – but my hands. The scars. They’ve never been so prominent.

_Ma._

O God. I didn’t mean to. Please Ma, I didn’t mean to!

_Wicked boy. Unnatural. You dirty thing. You child of sin._

Ma…

_Don’t think they won’t see it. Everyone can see it._

Yes, Ma.

_I tried to help you._

O, God. What am I doing? If I ever needed proof that witchcraft was evil this is it! It killed people. I killed people.

And it felt good.

“Boy!”

I finish scrubbing, hurry out and sniff at a cup with striking, thick blue liquid, but can’t smell anything other than mint. Swirling it in my mouth makes it foam, and when I spit it out my teeth feel different.

The water glass refills itself.

I wrap myself in the towel, pick up the pajamas and head back to the bedroom. When I enter, the pajamas zoom out of my hand.

“Your clothes are over there.”

I glance up for a second but then I stare.

He looks magnificent.

It’s all I can do not to fall to my knees.

He smiles. “What is it, darling? Seen a ghost?”

I drop my gaze, shake my head. “I can’t go out with you,” I say.

“Hm,” he says. There’s a hint of a threat there. “And why would that be?”

I swallow. “They’ll laugh,” I say. “They never let me in anywhere, Mr. Graves, I can’t –”

“Listen to me,” he says. He lifts my head. “Nobody will ever laugh at you while I am there, have you understood that?”

“Yes, sir.”  

“Good boy. Now, for the last time – hurry up and get dressed.”

He points at a pile of clothes on the bed.

I shake my head. “Those… those aren’t mine.”

He sighs. “Merlin, boy. Are you simple? They are now.”

“You’ve bought me clothes?” One time, a truck splashed me with slush and got everything wet, the pamphlets too, and I got ink on my shirt and I could not get it out and Ma beat me so hard and it was forty degrees and my shirt was still damp the next morning. Someone in church said I smelled like mould.

“They used to be mine.”

I can see that, they’re probably more valuable than anything I’ve ever touched. I look at him.

“Thank you. Thank you, Daddy.”

He touches my hair. “Dress robes don’t change fashion very much, not for us boys, anyway.” He starts laying things out, shirts, pants, vest, coat. “Though I heard young men don’t favor spats anymore. They’d rather risk ruining their shoes with a cleansing spell.” He turns around. “I trust you’re not that dumb.”

“No, sir.” I would have latched onto anything that helped me keep the cold out. I walk over to him, but then I duck my head again. “Where’s the  underwear?”

“Look closer.”

Next to the vest, there is a small piece of fabric. I turn my head.

He stands behind me. “Touch it. Try how it feels.” He holds the fabric to my face, drapes it across my chest.

I hunch some more. “It’s tiny.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry. You won’t be cold.” He pulls away the towel. “Come on. Slip in.”

I’ve seen lace up close, but I never thought I’d wear it – there. They’re smaller even than swimming trunks, and I have no idea how they hold themselves up – must be the magic again. They feel – sensual, painted on. As if I’m on display.

I blush. “Daddy…”

A kiss on my ear. “You’re perfect, darling. Absolutely perfect.”

I long to kiss back, to hold him, but I feel that he’s tense. So I point to leather straps lying near the pant legs. “What are those?”

He looks, and laughs. “Those are sock garters. Here, I wear them too.” He puts his foot on the bed and pulls up a trouser leg. It’s a strangely lewd gesture, and I feel something stir.

“An Auror needs to be able to move, my boy. Can’t have socks sliding down your leg when you’re chasing someone.”

I remember how often I had to crouch down and pull up my own socks and feel slightly ashamed. He sits on the bed next to me. “Do you want me to put them on?”

I nod, but then I shiver. They feel strangely permanent on my skin, both warning and a reminder.

Like my belt.

At least Daddy’s happy. I let him dress me further, socks, pants, shirt, vest, a longer overcoat than I’ve ever seen in evening wear, but is a lot like what he himself is wearing. A flick of his wand fixes the tie, and he pulls the spats over my shoes with a little smirk. But when he looks at the sleeves, he frowns. “Showoff,” he mumbles, and touches the wand to my wrist. The sleeves lengthen, but tighten as well, so they no longer sway. “As if the purpose of a fight is that it looks good.”

“Fight?” I say softly.

“Not tonight, darling,” he kisses my cheek.  “That is, not if we’re lucky.” He pulls me up. “Come.” He opens the door of his closet, and suddenly I’m in front of a full length mirror.

I stare. 

“Am I – is this what wizards look like, Daddy?”

“Almost.” He takes something out of his pocket. “Open your mouth.”

I do, not comprehending; it’s a phial with a little clear liquid inside. He dabs his finger, then brings it to my lips. They color red with all the blood that’s rushing into them. He smiles.

“That’s it. That’s my boy.”

He whisks me away.

 


	4. Squib

The first thing I notice is the smoke. The air is thick with it, and I only had a handful of fresh breaths before...  
  
_Ungrateful swine._  
  
Yes, I used to beg Ma not to send me out in December. It was so cold, and the good cheer made my heart ache.  
  
Good cheer enough here.  
  
Yes, they're drinking aren't they? And...  
  
I grab his arm. "Daddy, she's not human."

"Hm?" He follows my gaze. "I suppose not. Come." I'm still peering at the purple clad - what is she, a dwarf?- when he stops at a small table, tucked away in a corner. A man is hanging on a woman's every word.

"Abernathy."

The man sniffles in anger - I cringe - until his eyes go wide.

"D-Director Graves."

Daddy smiles. "Those missing reports turned up, then. On my desk no less. Good."

The woman makes a quick movement, and Daddy grasps at the air. "One moment, doll."

Her face is straining with effort, but nothing in her body moves. Daddy takes a step closer.

"I'm sure the money was tempting, but you might want to leave my city for a spell, yes? Can you do that?"

She seems to turn purple. He smirks. "Just blink."

She does.  He moves a finger.

"Good girl. Make that a year. No wait. Make it six." He turns to me. "I have an eye for pretty faces."

I lower my eyes.

I can still see him stretch out his palm though, and hear her stumble away. I look back up when Daddy says:

"She's a decoy, Abernathy. Whatever crate of dungbombs you were trying to locate is out of the country by now."

"Director, I am certain - "

"And there goes her associate." We all look to the door, and Daddy lifts his eyebrows.

Abernathy hurries away too, but even I can see he will never catch up.

Daddy shakes his head. "The things I do for a table." Then he smiles. "Come, darling. Sit."

He looks so soft when he says it. As soft as the hand on my shoulder, near my neck.

I want more.

But he lets me go to take out his wand. A moment later, two glasses and two bottles zoom our way.

"Hey!" It's a sharp voice, but I don't see...

CRACK!

I jump when I see the - gnome? An angry gnome. With enormous eyes and -

"You can't do that, Mister!"

Daddy smirks at the... creature near his table. "Took you long enough. Get my boy some chicken."

"You can come to the bar like everyone else!"

Daddy cocks his head. The thing turns to me. "You want fried potatoes, too?"

I nod, confused, and it disappears.

"Not the most pleasant of Elves," Daddy sighs, and opens a bottle. "Forgive him, my boy."

I look up for a second. "Don't you want anything?"

"A drink!" He pours himself a glass, then opens  the other bottle to do the same for me. "You've not had liquor before, have you, Credence?"

Me, steal my Ma's sherry? Some things aren't worth the risk.

He ruffles my head. "Don't look at me like that. You'll like this."

It smells - fruity, with a sharp tinge - raspberries, blackcurrants, there's even some chocolate in there, however that works. Daddy looks at me, small crinkles around his eyes, so I take a sip. It's sweet and strong and there's a warmth that spreads through me, up to my face and it tickles and -

"There you go. I knew you could laugh."

I look away, bite my lip, put my hand in front of my mouth. He reaches over, takes my hand. "No, my darling. Let me see that smile."

I turn my head. It feels so good, it's hard to look at him.

He takes his own glass. "Sláinte, my boy. Drink up."

I take my glass, then drink it all - it's nice, it's really nice, and the warmth spreads down to the soles of my feet and the tips of my fingers and it bubbles out of me. Daddy grins and I giggle and it feels so good and I reach over to the bottle for another one.

It flies away. "Ah, ah. That's enough on an empty stomach." I look down, and he reaches over to squeeze my hand. "Enjoy the feeling."

"Yes," I say, but I don't look down very long this time. This is nice. It is fun, sitting here, my hand in Daddy's palm, and there is magic everywhere. Actual magic. A plate of food comes floating my way, with about half a chicken, just for me - but that can't be right, can it?

He nods. "Dig in."

That brown golden hue, dripping in gravy – it looks better than anything I’ve ever had, even at Christmas, and I can’t help myself. The way the skin cracks with the tender meat underneath – God forgive me, I am starving now, I need it, more, I’m burning my tongue, but I am so hungry it hurts…

“Easy, boy!”

He grasps my hand and I’m still.

He’s going to take it away. I’ve made people think he won’t feed me. I mean, he _hasn’t_ fed me, not since last night, but I’ve ratted him out and he’ll be so upset and –

“Have some pumpkin juice.”

I hadn’t even seen it, but it’s rich, and amber, and I love how sweetly it flows over my tongue.

I’m in heaven.

I look into his eyes.

“Thank you, sir.”

He sighs. “Just eat, Credence.”

See, he is upset, though I think that he might just about forgive me. He’s smiling to himself, at any rate.

It’s so good. The food, and warmth, and drink, and I don’t think I really deserve this, and Daddy keeps looking at me like that day when he first held my face. The clothes too, are warm, and even the underwear – OK, I’m not thinking of that now. And music. Magic. Things are swirling in the air like it’s nothing. They have Elves. All these things Ma talked about, but she didn’t say they were good. But they are. I feel good.

Has he saved me?

I want to give thanks. I will do, tonight. When we’re alone. But he’s told me to eat, so I will.

“Is that good, darling?”

“Yes, Daddy.” I bite my lip. “Thank you. So much.”

“We have to get your strength up, right?” Then he turns left. “You can stop eavesdropping, Gnarlack.”

 Out comes a – definitely not a man, that, either. His nose is too long and the ears are too big but I know the type. Slides up to me come nightfall. After rallies. On the wet days.

Offers me a ride.

“Daddy?”

He shakes his head and turns to the gnome (this isn't an Elf right?), or man.

“Didn’t think you’d keep me waiting.”

“Didn’t want to intrude.” He looks at me and twists his mouth. “Interesting choice.”

This isn’t good. Daddy’s all stiff. And he’s frowning. “Is there a room or should I clear this place out?”

The man grins. “No rest for the wicked.”

“Then move.” He looks at me. “Credence, you too.”

When we stand up I reach for Daddy’s hand. He pulls it away. Instead he stands there, waiting, until I follow the gnomelike man out. He opens a door, but  all I see are dark stairs.

I can’t breathe.

What's going on? What have I done? Was it the shirt, or the chicken, the drink? Daddy is so quiet, that means he’s planned this, all this time at dinner and what are they going to do?

Daddy shifts and I can’t run, of course I can’t run, but I also can’t do this and then I feel them again, Daddy’s leather straps, tight against my skin.

Of course.

Don’t cry. It’s much worse if you cry you’re not there you’re not there you’re not _there_. Just move your feet up, you know how it works. Don't make it worse.

The room we step in is much darker.

“Sit down, Credence.”

Sit- where? That’s a bed, OK. That is good.

Soft.

“Look at me.”

I don’t want to.

“Are you going to give me trouble?”

I feel my hand twitch.

“Daddy, why…”

He puts a finger to his lips, shakes his head.

I look down.

“Impressive.” That’s the gnome-man. “How long did you say you'd had him?”

Daddy sighs. “Just tell me my options.”

“I’m guessing we’re not talking customer service.”

“I really don’t care.”

“Yeah, it didn’t look like that downstairs.”

He turns back. “That’s what he responds to. Would you have wanted him kicking and screaming?”

This can’t be real. It’s one of those daydreams gone horribly wrong. I’m going to wake up on 32nd street any minute now.

“Why sell him at all?” Gnome man shrugs. “Obliviate him and throw him out, problem solved.”

“They see things No Majes can’t.” He smiles. “Nice unplottable digs like yours, for instance. Even generations later.”

I can’t breathe, I can't breathe I can't _breathe_.

“That’s your area.” He walks over to the bed.  “Look, there’s no money in Squibs. Not this old. Joints that will take ‘em, they barely last six months.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

I look up at the chill in his voice.

Daddy,  _please._

“It will be for me, Mr. hoity toit. Weeks of work for a handfulla dragots, no thank you.”

His hand brushes my cheek. “O, he’ll last.”

The sound of the music is drifting through the floorboards, disjointed and muffled, as the gnome man grabs my arms.

He spits. “Sure, built like an ox, that one.”

Daddy smiles. “You’d be surprised.” I feel the mattress dip next to me as he sits down.

“Take off your shirt.”

No. He wouldn’t.

He moves closer. “Credence. Take it off.”

Jesus Christ. Please help me. God help me.

But there’s something comforting in the familiarity of the futile prayer. There’s no more pretense. Just pain. And I won’t have to dread when it comes now.

I feel cold.

Though the way he takes off my things, hands lingering on my scars, that shouldn’t feel good. “Shit,” the gnome man whistles, and I can’t understand why no-one's hitting me.

Daddy leans in even closer. “Well done, Credence. Your pants too.”

“I get the idea,” the gnome man says, but Daddy cuts him off.

“Trust me,” he says. “You’re going to want to see this.”

Then the soft, fancy cloth, and all the promise it held, slides off me. I keep staring at a wall that’s as empty as I feel.

“Well?”

“You’re a sick fuck, Graves.”

“No worse than you. Can you work with this?”

The gnome man is quiet. “You wizards,” he says finally. “To think you’re better than everyone.”

Daddy stands up. “We are better.”

He spits. “No goblin would treat one of ours like this!”

“That’s why you lost.” He tilts his head back. “And if this one betrays us, your kind is the first the No Majes will come for.” He grabs my hair. “So get to work.”

I feel sick.

The second the door shuts behind him, though, Daddy lets me go. “O, my boy,” he says. “My darling. Well done.”

No, no, this is insane. He’s insane.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Shhh, you’re OK. It’s OK. I can explain.”

“You lied!” I spit. “You said you’d help me!”

“I am helping you,” he says. I try to get myself out of his reach but he grabs me, and something about his touch drains the strength out of my arms. “Let me go!”

“Credence,” he whispers. “You know you’re not a Squib.”

I feel tears. “I don’t know what that is, don’t touch me, let me go…”

“Hush.”

O God he’s got my voice!

“Shhh, love, I need you to listen. I was lying. To him, not to you. You’re not a Squib, you’re anything but. But I need people to think you are.”

I don’t want to listen to him but he’s holding me tight and I am cold and it’s much nicer to curl up in his lap. He pulls me to him. “There you go, that’s it. That's it.” He rocks me, like I rocked Modesty, and it would be very nice if I weren’t almost naked and could talk. But I don’t dare do anything. Thankfully he talks himself.

“I didn’t want to upset you up front, my boy. And most Squibs would react exactly like you did when meeting Gnarlack.”

I look at him, point at my throat. He frowns. “Are you going to be calm?”

I lower my eyes, nod. His hand strokes my chin, and I feel the blood rush back.

“What’s a Squib?”

“A person with magical ancestry, but no power. One of the most hated groups of people in wizarding community.”

My eyes burn with tears. “Then why do you want them to think I am one?”

He rubs my arm. “Darling. Most Squibs go to any lengths to stay part of the wizarding world. Even rent themselves out to a wizard.” He sighs. “It’s not pleasant, but it is tolerated, and people don’t ask many questions.”

“But – Daddy, why can’t we tell them the truth?”

He stills. “Credence.” Then he puts both hands on the sides of my face.

“Credence, you’re a killer.”

I’m shaking. “But I didn’t mean to,” I whisper. I can barely hear my voice. “Daddy, please.”

He chuckles. “You didn’t mean to? You didn’t mean to kill one of the most important No Maj politicians, whose father is a newspaper mogul? You didn’t mean to get him to expose witchcraft in America? Even though his other son, who has a well known grudge, has joined your crazy cult?” He kisses my I cheek. “You really didn’t mean to?”

Tears are dripping down my face. “It’s not like that. He hurt me. He always hurt me.”

“That’s not very reassuring, my darling.” Another kiss. “A rogue Obscurial killing any No Maj who insults him. I should bring you in right now.”

 I grab his hands. “Daddy, no. Please.” I press my face against his chest. “Please, Daddy!”

“No, my boy. I want you to be free. But you can never distrust me again, OK?”

I shake my head.

“Say it.”

“Never, Daddy. I won’t ever distrust you again.”

“Darling boy.” He looks at me. “Show me.”

He again takes out the little phial, moistens his fingers and smears the clear liquid on my lips. Then he presses his thumb against them. “That’s it,” he says when I take it in. “That’s right.” He pulls my head back and kisses me.

I make myself soft for him, try to only follow where he leads. He hums, dark and low. Then he strokes my cock through my briefs.

It’s a sinful feeling, both tender and rough, and I feel my cock harden in his hands. He repositions me, right over his dick, but doesn’t open his pants. “I want to feel you, Credence. Your cock against my hand, go on. Does that feel good?”

I pant. “Yes, Daddy. It feels so good.”

There are now two fingers on my hole. “Will you make it feel good when I fuck you, too?”

“O yes, Daddy.”

“Fuck yourself open, then.” And there’s two hands on my cheeks now, spreading them through the fabric until he rolls down the briefs, but not completely, restricting the movement of my legs. I can feel his bulge pressing against my legs, but I first roll myself back on slick fingers, just like he said. He kisses my neck.“Right, baby boy,” he says. “Daddy is going to put his cock in you now.  Do you want that?”

“Yes, sir, please." Then I feel the stretch. "O, fuck."

"I will."

There’s still jazz music wafting up, and I rock back, and forth, and back, till Daddy’s buried to the hilt and making deep, grunting noises. He grabs my shoulders.

“What are you?”

“I’m your boy.”

He’s speeding up.

“Who do you belong to?”

I keen, my ass clenching on his cock. “You, sir, you.”

“For how long?”

“Forever.”

He bites my neck. “Get on the bed.”

He pulls back, and as I crawl on the mattress he takes out his wand, jerks it, once, twice, until all the clothing is off and he stands there, cock straining and slick; he slicks my hole up once more before pushing my ass cheeks apart as far they will go and pushing in again, hard and deep and fast and seemingly endless. Pleasure sparks through me, but he doesn’t care, keeps fucking until he’s again deep as he will go, grunting, one hand buried in my hair. One push makes me lose my balance, and we both fall, but he pulls my hips up before he empties himself with a yell, fucking through four, five, six throbs.

He pulls out.

“On your back. Open your legs.”

He takes my dick and jerks it, hard, almost callous. When I come there is as much pleasure as pain.

He towers over me. “What do you say?”

My eyes are blurry with tears.

“Thank  you, sir. Thank you."

He nods.

“Get dressed. We’re going home.”

  
  


	5. Night and Day

Bed used to be a refuge. Not much of one - it was hard and squeaky and the room could both be boiling hot or bitter cold, but at least in there I couldn't annoy Ma, not if I was quiet.

But he's right there.

I try to turn, but I never realised how hard sheets ruffle, or how loudly I breathe.

My ass hurts.

_And lead us not into temptation..._

"Credence."

I really didn't mean to jump like that. O Lord what do I do?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to jump like that, I.."

"Shhh. It's alright." He reaches over. "Credence. You're stiff as a board."

What am I supposed to say to that? "I didn't mean to wake you, I'll be quiet, I -"

"I'm a light sleeper. It might not even have been you." He waits a beat. "Come here, my love."

I feel like I'm breaking apart inside. How can you want something and not want it at the same time?

Don't make it worse..

"Hmm," he says as I curl up against his side. "What's going on?"

"I...I don't know." I sigh. "I was thinking of my sister..."

He stiffens, one second, but then he relaxes. "How old were you when your mother adopted her?"

"Seventeen."

He kisses my head. "A young man."

I shrug. "I guess."

"And had you ever thought of leaving by that point, Credence?"

There had been daydreams, desperate though they were. I can read well, sometimes even write. I know my way around the city. I tried, once, to get a job at our printer's. Said I'd sweep the floor, run errands, he could pay me in kind.

Ma snorted when I asked her permission.

"Sometimes."

When the printer had come to talk to her about it, though,she took the belt to my face.

Daddy cups my cheek. "Credence, have you ever considered that your sister may have been a trap?"

I recoil, shake my head, but he pulls me back. "Think about it, boy. Love is a much, much stronger force than fear. Your Ma was never going to keep you around by beating you alone."

I feel my body jerk. "It was not Modesty's fault!"

"No, my boy," he says softly. "But she was a hostage. And you hers."

I always thought she was there to replace me; a child Ma and Chastity could love. But she latched onto me with her devilish ways, and when Ma threatened to beat them out of her too, I couldn't... I simply couldn't...

"I only tried to help her, Mr. Graves..."

"I know, darling, I know." He rubs my arm.

"You're a loyal, good boy and your Ma knew that."

Hope blooms inside my chest. "So you'll let me see her?"

He stops. "That's not a good idea."

"Daddy please, just once..."

"No."  He sounds firm. "You killed her mother in front of her eyes. You broke her sister's neck. Don't hurt her more than you already have."

I bow my head. "But I'm sorry..."

"Then let her go," he says. "For both your sakes."

I close my eyes.

_Murderer._

"Hey, hey," he says, and I'm lying almost  on top of him now, nose buried in the crook of his neck. "You'll have a new life, a new start. Don't forget that."

I lift my head. "You said I respond to that."

Daddy is quiet, and I could kick myself. But then he laughs, a deep, rumbling, belly laugh that I can feel reverberating through me. "O, my boy," he says. "Nothing goes past you, does it?"

I bite my lip. "Why did you say that?"

He shakes his head. "Don't think about it."  
I look down, pull up my shoulders.

He sighs. "It's impolite to dote on Squibs in public."

I look up. "Why?"

"Because fucking a Squib is like fucking an Elf, and Merlin knows it happens, but nobody wants to think about it." When I shift, he laughs again. "You did ask."

"Yes, sir." I snuggle closer. "There's so much to learn."

"And you will." He hugs me tight, again, then kisses my cheek. "Now let me sleep.”

"Yes, sir." I squeeze his hand. "Goodnight, sir."

The sheets move, tucking me in. "Nice and snug?"

My chest hurts. "Yes, Daddy."

He strokes my hair, kisses my head. "Then sleep."

*

The morning is different.

"Up, Credence," he says, with that air of his, 'have you found the child?' My legs move faster than I do, and I almost fall over,  _IdiothowcouldyoutakeitoffCredence_ but he hasn't seen.

"Get dressed, we don't have all day."

"No sir."

I find my clothes and I am... slightly disappointed? They're so threadbare compared to what I last wore, to what he- no, what am I saying, I couldn't ask for that but...

"Breakfast is on the table."

I don't think I've fastened my vest this quickly in my life I am starving. It's not the dull lightheaded background pain of winter, but the deep roar when there's food to be had, rich food, but I have to be quick I never did finish that chicken.

"Easy, boy!"

But he said.. doesn't matter what he said, he's going to be mad again, and please let me eat, at least let me eat...

"Credence, look at me."

Don't blink, I'll cry if I blink but the only thing he does is press me to him, head against his belly, hands on my face.

“Oh, Credence.”

And he rubs, steady strokes. "Credence, I've met soldiers less shell shocked than you."

I bury my head closer against his side, bite my lip to keep the tears in. He leans over, whispers in my ear.

"It's going to be much worse."

I jerk."What?" He doesn't move. "How?"

"I don't know yet." He darts off. "But we have to be ready."

I don't like how that makes me feel, but having food around always makes everything a little safer. I dig in.

"Slowly." His tone is sharp. "Stuffing your face makes you careless."

I cringe. "Yes, Daddy."

He's not wrong, of course.This oatmeal was made with cream. There's spices in it that make it smell like pastry. Raisins. Pieces of apple. The glass next to it holds something I recognise as pumpkin juice.  
God I wanna cry.

He sits, drinks something. I think it's coffee. Better than Ma's coffee. It makes me look up.

"Daddy, what's an Auror?"

He blinks. "Can you not guess?"

I bite my lip. "I want to be sure.”

”But No Majes have law enforcement, too. I know they do."

"You're a cop, Daddy?" He looks offended at the suggestion, so I change my tune. "A police officer?"

"O," he says. "You use the Greek. I can never tell with No Majes." He smiles, puffs himself up a little. "I, my boy, am the Director of Magical Security at the Magical Congress of the United States of America."

"Oh." I look away. "O, I didn't know."

"Which means I'm a rather busy man, Credence."

"Yes, sir," I say. "I'm nearly done."

But I can't seem to be making a dent. I keep eating, ever faster, but in the end I have to look up.

"Daddy - it's really tasty, but..."

"Hmm?" He glances over, waves his hand. "Finite incantatem."

The food shrinks, until only a few oats remain.

"Multiplication spell," he says coolly. Then he leans back. "Tell me, Credence, what do you know about magic?"

I look down. "Nothing, sir. I think."

My hands shake.

"You think?"

_Pounding blood and rage and fear. Freedom large enough to drown_

(I feel sick)

_Evil death and all my fault_

"Credence!"

I heave, but this time it's not tears. I have to fling myself at the toilet bowl to prevent soiling the floor.

Praise God I make it.

It's disgusting, even here, even though there's no outhouse and the only thing I smell is my own bile. But it feels like something is ripping me up from the inside and I'm tasting blood. 

_You deserve it_

And I slump and cry, stench still in my nose, yes, Ma, always Ma, scars in my hand throbbing like mad. It's almost comforting, being back on my knees.

But there he is of course.

He crouches down. "Credence! Boy. Look at me."

He takes out his wand. I duck.

"Shhh," he says. "It's OK, my boy. Can you stand?"

I nod, he lifts me up, gets me to the bathroom. "Let's wash up."

I do, hold my head under the faucet, take a swig of mint. He opens a cabinet and takes out a flask.

I stiffen, straighten up.

"Daddy, I don't want to go to sleep."

"Credence, you were spitting blood."

"Please, Daddy." There's gravel in my voice. "I'll do what you want, just -"

"Don't be stupid."

And there's a choice. Night or day. Take your pick.

I bow my head.

He smiles, tipping the liquid into my mouth. "That's it. There you go."

And it tastes - amazing, actually?

It's both nourishing and fresh, soothes my throat as it's sliding down straight to my stomach, and... I... I...

Look, some things you better stop feeling, if you're smart enough. Pinching shoes and collars. Shoulders slamming into your stomach every single day. The way skin smarts two days after a beating. Only the ghost of that remains, like coal dust in winter, a dull, constant reminder to repent.

And now it's gone.

I stumble, grab his arm. "Daddy..."

He holds me up. "It's good, isn't it?"

I nod, two times. Three.

"Then say thank you."

I open my lips as he strokes them, suck in his thumb. "Hm," he says, "I think you can do better than that."

I wait, look to the ground, then sink to my knees.

He grabs my necktie. "Not here, boy!"

It shoots out of me, faster than I can think. "I'm not a dog!"

He stills for a milisecond. "No?" he says, pulling me closer, hand still twisting my tie. "You sure look like one."

I double over once again, stare up. "D...daddy - What...?"

He brings his face close. "Magic is about power, Credence. Who wields it, who can't. You..." He smirks. "You can't even talk about it without throwing up."

The whole world is swimming as he throws me down. "You..." I gasp. "You said you could teach me..."

"I can't teach you if you don't want to be taught."

He steps on my hand. I yelp.

"Believe what you want, Credence, but your Ma would have killed you without a second thought. You're not the first Scourer's child that's happened to. And looking at you, she's damn near succeeded, anyway." He steps off and I scramble back, but he crouches down, wand in hand, and pushes the tip against the soft flesh under my jaw. "Whose side are you on, Credence Barebone?"

I look at my hand, then back to him. Look at my belt, that I still can't get myself to abandon. Think of Ma's face, dead on the ground.

"Yours, Daddy." I've never felt surer in my life. “Please.”

"Good," he says, and helps me up. "Then let's begin."


End file.
